


And Say Your Hair's on Fire (you must have lost your wits)

by aimmyarrowshigh



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh
Summary: Rey's scowl deepens, immune to Poe's flattery by now. They've been dealing with each other for years: Rey makes her living on this junkyard dust-heap by making the criminal element of the Galaxy harder for Poe to catch, and he's made most of his best collars on people who lost Rey's favor and earned a tip-off to the New Republic Defense Force. Rey is helpful to Poe when it suits her.He wishes it suited her more often.She's cute with grease on her cheek.---Or, Rey runs a starship chop-shop on Jakku, and staid New Republic Defense Force naval commander Poe Dameron wishes she didn't.





	And Say Your Hair's on Fire (you must have lost your wits)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer 2017 Poe/Rey Fic Exchange on Tumblr! I hope you enjoy it, @18tpaz! You asked for smuggler/criminal!Rey and NRDF!Poe, so I twisted that slightly. It's a bit cheesy, but I hope you like it anyway. ♥

"Blast!"

"Pfassk!"

"Kriff!"

"Rabaya's holy motherfucking tits!" Karé yells, panting, as Rapier Squadron races around another labyrinthine corner and Iolo's flying fingers work desperately over the control panel in the wall to get the blast door closed in time. "Why in the name of Ellaya's teeth are the Guavians smuggling _rathtars_?"

[!@#$%^!] BB-8 agrees, whirring with anxiety and rubbing against the backs of Poe's calves where it hides as Poe pants, hands on his knees, watching the porthole in the blast door. 

_Slurp-smack_. A giant sucker slaps against the blast door, working in gooey, starving undulations as the tasty scent of humans—and one Keshian—is just barely blocked off by the durasteel and triple-layer transparisteel of the viewport. 

It was a nauseating sight, Poe thinks, wrinkling his nose as he stands. They'd finally made it to the launch bay, at least, and their ships were still here. The Guavians were gone, though, and Poe smacks his thigh in frustration. 

"The bigger question," he manages, still out of breath, "is who's footing their bill."

The sucker detaches from the viewport and heavily hits the floor on the other side with a meaty, squishing sound. Karé shudders.

"Can we discuss that on the comms?" she asks. "I feel like that thing— "

 _CRUNCH_. The blast door buckles as the rathtar on the other side throws its entire weight against the metal. 

" —is still coming," Karé finishes, already jogging backwards towards Rapier Two.

Poe gulps a deep breath and waves everyone on towards their T-85s. “Rapier Squadron to ships, engage as soon as you’re flight-ready.”

“Yes, Commander!” Muran says, running to Rapier Four.

“Aye-aye, Dameron,” Iolo concurs, whistling for his R6 to load into Rapier Three. BB-8 is already beeping commands of its own in binary from Rapier Lead’s droid hatch, instructing the other three astromechs in engagement coordinates and oblate gravity releases. Even though BB-8 is all business once it’s in the hatch, it still wriggles with anxiety when the rathtars’ screams echo through the collapsing metal of the bay doors.

Poe climbs into the cockpit just as the first crack appears in the durasteel. Tiny, glistening breaks spiderweb their way across the porthole transparisteel, ready for a tentacle to punch through.

“All squadron, on my mark!” Poe barks into the comms. 

The tentacle writhes through the hatch window and starts to flail, rathtar screeching in hunger, angry-desperate in constant rage, and the sheer strength of the tentacle starts to rip the launch bay door from its hinges, maglock be damned.

“Punch it!” Poe yells, and four top-of-the-line New Republic Defense Force X-wings shoot out of the bay and into space just as the massive blob of monster rolls into the bay. One long, slimy arm just barely misses catching onto the tail of Rapier Four, but Muran spits a rare curse into his headset as he and BA-77 crank the thrusters and shoot out of the rathtar’s grasp.

All four pilots are silent until they’re clear out in deep space.

“Well, that was kriffed up,” Iolo finally says.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Karé snorts. 

"Even more than usual," adds Muran. He sounds troubled. "Since when do the Guavians have the money for a Baleen-class freighter?"

"Let alone one with that many tech mods," says Karé. "Did you see the bioscan sync-locks on the cockpit doors? They were designed to match exactly to those cybernetic suits. I bet the rathtars got loose as soon as those red pinheads left the ship. Suicide switch."

"Murder switch, more like," says Poe. "Since they were gone and _we_ were still there." He frowns, looking at the galactic display on his cockpit screen. "Rapier Two, head back to base and write up a report. File a Class A-Minor bounty on Bala-Tik. Three and Four, get back to the trade route and resume patrol." He pauses, starting to program a new destination into the T-85's commscreen, BB-8 beeping confirmations. "There's only one person in the Galaxy who could've done mods that complex. I'm going to Jakku."

* * *

Poe never gets used to the intensity of Jakku's heat. It hits like the flare of an explosion when he pops open the cockpit, sand and sun and that eerily still wind immediately too heavy and oppressive on his skin. A flight suit is too heavy for this weather, and he's soaking in sweat before he even lands boots on the ground.

It takes a while to secure the ship with enough shielding and identiscans to prevent theft this close to Niima Outpost. Poe doesn't begrudge the scavengers their only means of income, but he'd like not to lose a proton torpedo this time.

[I can stay here, Friend-Poe], BB-8 offers. [I am very observant.] It brandishes its zapper meaningfully.

"No, thanks, buddy," Poe says. "You're with me. I don't even want to guess how much _you'd_ be worth to a Teedo." He wipes his dripping forehead on his arm and shucks the top half of his flight suit off, tying it around his waist. It's against regs to conduct official business in his undershirt, but it would probably reflect worse on the NRDF if he fainted in front of a bunch of smugglers and scoundrels.

Also, it would worry BB-8.

Poe activates all of the cloaking that he knows how to program, hefts the portable hydrator onto his shoulder, and whistles for BB-8 to follow him across the dunes—away from Niima. He wants _credible_ information, not the swill and innuendo that he can get from Unkar Plutt or anyone on his payroll.

BB-8 whistles cheerily as it rolls ahead of Poe up the horizon until the sunlight flares off metal and Poe has to shield his eyes. The toppled AT-AT walker gleams like the day it was made, its legs supporting the huge awning over their destination. A buzz of activity, voices drowned out by the mechanical hum of droids at work and the buzzing of tools splitting and soldering durasteel, surrounds the chop-shop. Poe strains his ears for Bala-Tik's distinctive accent, but there's only the sharp squeal of sparks flying.

The voices all hush when Poe crosses the threshold of the awning, its shadow blissfully cool. He can't relax, though, not with all of those eyes on him—it's a veritable roster of the NRDF's mid-level Wanted list, from Sidon Ithano and Pru Sweevant to the most hapless of the Irving brothers, bumbling little Nix. He's the only one who tries to speak, and a hand dipped black with Chaako eel ink reaches out of the shadows to cover his mouth.

Poe holds his chin high and walks forward until he's almost at the back, where a wide shop counter separates the chop-shop's owner from her customers. 

"Rey," Poe says, crossing his arms. 

Rey of Jakku is the same height as Poe, but holds herself taller. Her hair is in the same row of three buns as the last time he saw her, pale cloth wrapped tightly around her slim arms to protect them from the machinery of her enterprise. She's got grease on her cheekbone and freckles across her nose.

And a scowl on her face. "Nardf," she spits. All around her, the wayward customers who rely on her expertise start to scuttle away, melting into the Jakku sunlight as they go back on the run. 

"What do you want?" Rey asks, and she crosses her own arms. Her chin lifts to match, and there's a shiny burn on the side of her neck that wasn't there last time Poe had to interrogate her. She smirks. "And what'll you pay for it?"

Poe sets the portable hydrator down at his feet. "I just want some information about an interesting ship mod I saw," he says lightly. "Seemed like your handiwork." He gives her a half-smile. "I know the best when I see it."

Rey's scowl deepens, immune to Poe's flattery by now. They've been dealing with each other for years: Rey makes her living on this junkyard dust-heap by making the criminal element of the Galaxy harder for Poe to catch, and he's made most of his best collars on people who lost Rey's favor and earned a tip-off to the New Republic Defense Force. Rey is helpful to Poe when it suits her.

He wishes it suited her more often.

She's cute with grease on her cheek.

"You'll have to be more specific, nardf," she says. "I do a lot of interesting work and I don't really keep records. Not great shakes at reading, me."

Poe steps right up to her counter and lets his arms fall to his sides, fingertips resting lightly on the brushed metal countertop. She keeps her belongings incredibly clean for living on a sand ball. 

"My team and I got attacked by some rathtars on a freighter yesterday," Poe says, voice low. "There was a biofeedback switch holding them into the cargo bay. What the _pfask_ , Rey? Since when do you do work like that?"

Rey blinks a few times, fast. Her brow just barely creases, but her eyes dart to where Nix Irving is still hovering near the door, clearly half in-love with her and just waiting to be able to come to her rescue and win her heart. 

He always was the dumbest of the dumbest gang in the Galaxy.

"I don't know what you're talking about, nardf," Rey says, voice aloof. Irving won't be able to see her typing something on the datapad inset on her counter. "I just sell refurbished ship and droid components to people who can't afford your fancy Core tech. Can't help you."

Rey whirls away and ducks into the chamber of her AT-AT walker, the hatch slamming shut. A moment later, Poe hears Irving's footfalls sliding against the flow of the dunes, and then when he's sure he's alone, he checks the message on his commlink.

_TUANUL TEMPLE. TWO STARS PAST MOONRISE._

* * *

Tuanul Village, ten klicks from Rey's chop-shop, might as well be on a different planet from the hive of scum and villainy that is Niima Outpost. There are permanent homes here, small dwellings made of strong duracrete roughened by sand, and the whole settlement is asleep by the time Poe parks his ship near the banked ceremonial fire at the town center and hops out of the cockpit. The temple is humble, but still the largest building touched by the fire's faint light. He can hear old Lor San Tekka, the scholar in residence—in lieu of any Jedi to preserve the temple's lore—puttering around inside his hut nearby, but the temple itself is still and silent when Poe shoulders open the door. This time, he did leave BB-8 with the ship to act as a lookout.

At least, that's what he told BB-8.

Poe blinks in the sudden light as Rey appears in front of him holding a small flashlight. She'd moved as silently as the pale sliver of moons above the village. 

"Were you followed?"

Poe shakes his head. "You?"

Rey shakes her head, too, and then she steps closer, toe-to-toe. Poe can smell the fresh-sweat scent of her hair, and he reaches out in the dark to rest his hands on her waist. 

"You sure that little Irving didn't see your speeder?" Poe asks. Both of them are whispering even though they're alone in the temple. "He seemed to have his eye on you."

"I've already kicked his ass twice," Rey says crossly. "I don't know what it'll take for him to get the picture." 

Poe laughs softly and kisses the top of her head, one of her buns tickling his nose. He wants to say _you could leave Jakku_ , but they've had that argument. They have enough to hash out tonight without adding that to the mix. 

Rey looks up at him and his lips brush her forehead. "Did you really get attacked by rathtars?"

"Yes." Poe watches her face, the veil of guilt that closes for a moment over her expression before she waves it away. "Rey, since when do you do mods like that? And for the _Guavian death gang_?"

Rey steps away from him and moves to sit on a small, threadbare rug on the temple floor. She tucks her knees close to her chest and rubs her forehead, shoulders heavy. Poe's brow furrows and he sits down across from her, trying to give her the room she needs to sort out her thoughts. It took a long, long time to get her to trust him, and even more to get her to _like_ him. He tries not to push, not about pleasure and not about business.

But he needs to know.

"Rey, what do they have on you?" He touches her knee. "What'd they need rathtars for, anyway? Can't sell much spice if a monster eats your customers."

"I didn't know it'd be rathtars," Rey says, finally. "You know I won't do mods for anyone moving—anything living." And he does know that; Poe got a Command by only thirty because thanks to Rey, Rapier Squadron scoured the Western Reaches clean of slavers and nerf-rustlers. She looks up at him, her face serious in the flickering dim. "And if I didn't do it, then someone else would. And you wouldn't find them." Her mouth twists. "I'm sorry you nearly got hurt."

Poe squeezes her knee. "Don't do things you don't want to just for me. It's my job to go after them anyway, you know. I appreciate all your help, but I don't want you to – you know, you have your lines and I want you to hold them." He doesn't let go of her knee, but he does sit back with a sigh. "Besides, it wasn't the first time we saw something weird out in the OR-Sector lately. I mean, there aren't many sights weirder than a rathtar, but you know what I mean. Just… looks like it's getting rougher out here. And I'd rather have to work harder and know that you're safe."

Rey licks her lip. "Maybe we could work together." She meets his eyes. "A long time ago, you said the NRDF could use a mechanic like me. Is that offer still open?"

Poe's heartbeat speeds up in his chest as a smile spreads across his face. "Are you sure?" 

"It's time." Rey shrugs one thin shoulder. She gives him a small, timid smile. "If you weren't being serious, then just pretend I didn't say anyth—"

Poe scoops her up and pulls her in close to kiss her forehead, her nose, both of her cheeks. "Rey, you're brilliant. Of course I was serious. Even if you don't want to work for the NRDF, you should—you could—come with me." He brushes hair away from her face and cups her jaw gently in both hands. "You'll love Mirrin Prime. There are big gardens and lots of trees. And I'm gonna take you to a Yavinese restaurant first thing." He finally kisses her mouth, soft and sweet, just once. "Why now?"

Rey's fingertips play with the short hair at the nape of Poe's neck. "A lot of reasons." He doesn't press, just tips his head to kiss her forearm through the scratchy wraps. "And I think I can be of real help to—I don't like the New Republic," she says. "But I don't like the alternative, even more. And there are rumors around the Rim." Poe opens his mouth to ask _what rumors?_ but Rey hushes him with one index finger pressed to his lips. "And I got tired of… watching my family leave," Rey says, even more softly. "I'm old enough now to have a choice."

Questions about Outer Rim rumors about toppling the New Republic are pushed to the back of Poe's mind as Rey replaces the finger against Poe's lips with her mouth, kissing him warm and soft. Maybe it isn't proper use for the old temple, but Poe never feels more connected to the Force than when he's inside Rey, anyway. The dark and the quiet make for good companions, and it does feel holy this time, knowing that when he gets dressed again to leave, Rey is coming with him.

* * *

Of course, it figures in the morning that when they get to Poe's ship, BB-8 beeping with great agitation about how long Poe was gone, the thing won't start. Poe's pride and joy, the best and fastest X-wing in the Navy, and it's sitting on the sand in backwater Tuanul Village like a lump of scrap metal.

Rey smiles at Poe from where she's on her knees, fixing BB-8's bent antenna. "I've got this." She sends Poe on her speeder back to her AT-AT with instructions to gather her portions, salvaged Tierfon Yellow Aces helmet, and a few trinkets that Poe gifted her over the years. And her toolkit. She definitely wants to keep her own toolkit.

Poe's dripping with sweat by the time he gets back to Tuanul, but Rey looks cool as a Hoth breeze where she squats underneath the T-85's S-foils, surrounded by nuts and bolts and metal shavings. 

"Hydrospanner," she says, and BB-8 tootles happily as it pops open a compartment for her. Rey lifts the spanner like it's a bat and hammers something inside the X-wing's belly with all her might.

"Hey!" Poe says, and he jumps down from the speeder to stomp over. "Is that how you always work?"

"It is when the ship's garbage," Rey says around the screws between her teeth. "Who did the compartment packaging on this? You're putting torque strain on the hull every time your foils open. Maker forbid you actually needed to fire any of those concussion missiles or you'd blow yourself in half." She gives the ship's innards another good smack before closing the panel. "Well, it'll get us to Mirren Prime as long as you're gentle on the thrusters. It's garbage, but the garbage will do." 

She stands and pats Poe's cheek, kisses his gaping mouth. A small piece of durasteel and circuits lands in his hand. "Some moof-milker set you up with a compressor on the hyperspace valve. I bypassed it." She climbs up into the cockpit and holds out her hand for the antique, battle-scarred helmet from her walker. "You should have asked me to fix your ship ages ago. I have much better parts than the NRDF does. It's a wonder you ever catch anyone in this thing."

[I like Mechanic-Rey!] comments BB-8 as it lifts into the droid hatch.

Poe looks down at the compression valve _he'd_ lovingly installed himself a few weeks ago.

Whoever's spawning hushed rumors out on the Rim—whoever's paying the cartels to smuggle rathtars instead of spice and chasing even the most hapless of criminals into service—Poe thinks he is, indeed, a lot more likely to catch them with Rey on _his_ side now.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr @aimmyarrowshigh](http://aimmyarrowshigh.tumblr.com). :)


End file.
